


To Soothe The Savaged

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Community: dmhgficexchange, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Hermione Granger - character, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-war, post-Azkaban, post-hope. Draco Malfoy learns something he never wanted to know, but desperately needed to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Soothe The Savaged

**Author's Note:**

> Written prior to series end, background details not canon.

The paperwork never ended. No matter how often I signed things and filed things and accidentally dumped things into the fireplace, I always had a stack of parchments on my desk. You'd think that a former Death Eater wouldn't be the right person to approach for donation requests, club invitations, and other assorted business-related ephemera, but even after that bullshit excuse for a war, the Malfoy name - and accounts - still held a lot of draw.

Tonight, I didn't feel like dealing with it. I shoved it all onto the floor and Summoned a bottle of brandy and a large snifter.

Three hours later, I still had an inch of brandy in the snifter, but the bottle had developed a mysterious leak and gone completely empty. I flicked one nail against it, trying to figure out exactly where all the brandy had gone. The carpet wasn't wet, so I hadn't spilled any. Maybe Mother'd drunk it all, lush that she was. I stared up at her portrait. "Did you, Mother? Did you finish my brandy?"

She didn't answer, which was surprising, knowing her. Then I saw her head bowed over her folded hands. The white roses were back on the table behind her, and I closed my eyes. Fuck. The anniversary. My birthday. My -- I touched my left sleeve and grimaced. Every year, it snuck up on me. I stood, bracing myself against my desk, and when the room had stopped spinning, I moved to my father's portrait. He sneered down at me, his cane gripped tight in one hand, and I flicked two fingers up at him before pulling a thick sheet of fabric over the canvas. Even though I'd had it frozen so that he could never move again, it still felt like he followed me, watched me.

Judged me.

Mother's portrait gave a small sigh, and I crossed to her, putting both hands on the carved frame and leaning my head against her painted knee. The last time I'd been in this position, I'd been eleven years old, about to leave for Hogwarts, and terrified at being away from my mother for the first time in my life. She'd stroked my hair and made shadow puppets, conjured up a chamomile-scented handkerchief when I wrapped both arms around her legs with a quavering gulp and begged her to come with me the next morning to school.

Neither of us realized Father had entered the room until his cane snapped across my shoulders and he dragged me away from her, shoved me out the door and ordered me to my rooms. Malfoys never begged. When he escorted me to the carriage for our journey to the train, telling me that Mother was ill, I turned my face away and watched until the Manor disappeared behind the trees. Mother was ill every time I disappointed Father. I was fifteen before I finally realized what that meant.

A soft knock brought my head up, and I trailed my fingers across the edge of Mother's dress before opening the door with a wave of my hand. My personal house-elf, Tizzy, shuffled into the study, her hands clasped in front of her. "Master Draco, there is a person here. Tizzy told her to leave, but she will not go away."

"Oh, let me guess. 'Tis some visitor, rapping at my chamber d--_fuck_ me." Behind Tizzy, a cloud of bushy hair appeared. Very familiar bushy hair, and god help me, when she entered the room, the herbal scent of her perfume was intoxicating. I was intoxicated enough. "Tizzy, it's not a person, it's a Granger. Get it out of my house."

"Language, Malfoy." The cloud turned my direction, brown eyes peeking out through lashes that curled up at the tips. I swore at myself for even noticing how long her lashes were, how they brought attention to the arch of her brows. I did _not_ need this right now. Granger's work at the Ministry, her little "Support the Victims of the War" project, had been the source of too much annoyance for me to willingly put up with her tonight.

I'd bowed and scraped enough at the Ministry to make up for my crimes, and I was not going to do so now, even if she stripped off her clothes and sprawled over my desk. I blinked as that image shouldered its way to the front of my brain. All right, I'd admit, Granger was nice on the eyes, and maybe I'd appeared at the Ministry a few more times than necessary because she worked there. However, even if it _had_ been six, seven years - oh, fuck, _years_ \- since I'd had a proper shag, as women willing to sleep with a Marked man were a bit hard to come by after the war, Granger had to leave, for the sake of my sanity.

"It's _my_ house, Granger, and you weren't invited." I shoved my chair back and stalked to her, gripping her by both shoulders and pushing her back over the threshold of my study. My hands didn't want to uncurl from her shoulders, so I dug in, pressing my nails into her shirt until she smacked my arms away herself.

She huffed, then pushed her hair back behind her ears. She glared at me and I forced myself not to take a step back, the memory of third year rising up and expecting her to slap me again. Though, the glare could have been heldover from that Ministry party a few months ago when I'd overdone the Firewhiskey, grabbed her arse, and claimed she'd had a spider on her. That black eye took two weeks to heal properly. "I don't care," she said, and she actually stomped her foot. "I'm not leaving until I take care of something important."

"The Malfoy Home for Retired Death Eaters is _not_ open at the moment, Granger, so do me a favor and return when I'm not foxed, hmmm? Actually." I rubbed my forehead. "Do me a very big favor and don't return at all. I'll pay you to stay away. I can do it, you know. I have loads of money."

She rolled her eyes and forced her way past me, pulling a thick folder from her purse and shoving it into my hands. I grabbed it to keep from grabbing her. Damn, but if the way my body reacted when she brushed my robes was any indication, my sanity might not be the only thing that would need protecting. I allowed myself a moment to watch her arse move under her skirt, jerking my eyes up to her face when she turned on her heel and spoke.

"I know what day it is, Malfoy."

I stiffened. "Shut up." Turning to Tizzy, I gestured her away. "Punish yourself for letting Granger darken my door."

Over Tizzy's howl, Granger's strident voice rose. "How dare you, Malfoy! She just let me into the house! If you dare order her to iron her hands or-or-or to smash herself with a book, I swear, I will ... _something_!"

I followed her into the study, dropping the folder onto my desk. "Tizzy, one moment. Come here and tell Granger what your punishment entails." I leaned against the front of the desk, arms crossed, and watched Tizzy trudge into the room, wiping her face on a sofa as she approached Granger.

"Tizzy must go into the kitchens and she m-m-must, she must _tell the others_ that she has misbehaved." Tizzy's ears drooped and she twisted her hands together. Shifting from foot to foot, she sniffled. "And then she must sit at the t-t-table. And s-s-she m-m-must _not do work_." With a pained sob, she covered her face and ran from the study.

Granger stared at Tizzy's back, her mouth open. "That. Is her punishment? Not to work?" I stifled a groan as she flicked a glance at me. If I was about to hear a lecture on house-elf rights and the plight of the tiny green worker, I was going to grab my wand and find out if it _was_ possible to use the Killing Curse on oneself. I rounded my desk and thumped into the chair, putting my head in my hands. I was not nearly drunk enough to hear Granger say, "Malfoy, you surprise me."

Wait a tic. I looked up at her. And her. And another her - yes, past time for a sobering spell. I held up one hand to silence Granger for the moment while I fumbled with my wand. After a few seconds in which I attempted to determine whether I should vomit in the potted plant behind me, or be athletic and bolt for the loo, my brain and stomach finally co-ordinated. The room settled into place and the Grangers merged into one. One that was watching me with a tilted head and the _most_ quizzical expression.

"You punish your house-elves by not allowing them to work?"

I nodded, absurdly pleased that my head didn't fall off at the movement. "Making them injure themselves just puts them out of commission for a day or so. This way, they're not hurt, just humiliated. Far more devastating, actually."

Her eyes narrowed, and I knew, just _knew_ that the lecture was forthcoming, but instead she surprised me by stepping up to my desk and placing one hand on the folder. "Malfoy. You need to read this. And you should read it tonight." She looked at Mother's portrait, at her black dress and bowed head. "I know what day it is."

I growled and yanked the folder away from her. "Shut up, Granger. You don't know anything. Now get out of my house before I _do_ make Tizzy iron herself."

She turned her attention back to me and I wanted to recoil from her eyes. I'd known her since I was eleven years old, and in the thirteen years since, I'd never seen her eyes be that soft, not even when she was cooing over that mangy orange claw-factory of hers. Her eyes were soft, concerned, - dammit, they were _worried_ \- and I shut my own to avoid looking at this horribly confusing Granger. When her voice sounded next to my chair, I flinched. "It's June fifth, your twenty-fourth birthday, and the seventh anniversary of your initiation into the Death Eaters. As well as the seventh anniversary of your mother's death."

My hands tightened around the file, crumpling the edges of it under my fingers. I stared at her, wishing for the first time that my aunt had taught me Legilimency instead of Occlumency. "H-how do you know th-that?" Even as I stuttered, I swore at myself. Always a mark that I was close to losing control, _dammit_.

She sighed and picked up a quill, running the feathers through her fingers. "Read the file, Malfoy."

I forced a sneer onto my face, ordering myself to stop watching her hands, to stop wondering just what those fingers would feel like on my skin. "Does it contain a spell to make you go away?" She ignored me, pushed up onto my desk and sat, gripping the edge of it. I raised an eyebrow at her. "Nice legs, Granger, but if you're going to get them that close to me, I'd prefer it if you took off the skirt."

She snorted and tugged said skirt down a bit. "Nice. Really nice. You had smoother lines when you were thirteen."

I leaned back in my chair and stared at her, then ticked off my points on my fingers. "I left school at sixteen, after attempting to murder the Headmaster. Spent the next year hiding for fear of my life, until the Death Eaters caught me and dragged me back to my proper place. Spent the two years after _that_ torturing and killing Mudbloods and Muggles."

Leaning forward, I continued. "Then Potter finally sacrificed himself and took the Dark Lord with him. Next came my trial and three years in Azkaban before my release. I've only been a free man for a little over two years, so excuse me for not having had the opportunity to get much practice in the seduction of women." God, if this didn't get rid of her, nothing would. "Want to help me practice?" I put my hand on her leg and slid it up over her knee.

She slapped me.

I rocked back in my chair, hand to my cheek. Finally. I picked up the folder and waggled it at her, then pointed to the door. She glared at me and shouted. "_Read_ it. Now!"

Stubborn bitch just did not get the hint. I snapped the folder open, expecting ... not what I saw. My hands started to shake as I recognized the court documents from my trial five years previous. _In the matter of Draco Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater and murderer, let it be shown..._ I scanned the paperwork quickly, looking for some reason Granger would have to present me with all this. I was _at_ the bloody trial, not like I needed to read it all again. I started as her fingers closed over mine, and she drew the folder away. Shuffling through it, she slid one sheet of parchment in front of me, then slipped off the desk and stood just out of my reach.

The reason for my pardon had never been disclosed, and now I was staring at it. A member of the Order of the Phoenix had stepped forward, and testified on my behalf. Testified to a confession presented to her by ...

By Lucius Malfoy.

In his final days at Azkaban prison, they had offered my father a choice. The Kiss or a quick execution. To receive the latter, he only need speak under _Veritas Mortalis_, a version of Veritaserum created by the Order during the war for use on captured prisoners - translate that to Death Eaters, of course. I never did discover which of the Order members was sadistic enough to create a potion that combined the effects of Veritaserum and the Killing Curse, but I suspected that Snape had had a hand in it.

Father's confession was flat and dispassionate, his usual eloquence apparently ripped from him by Azkaban. I read the parchment a half dozen times, waiting for the words to change and give me a different story than the one I couldn't believe. Refused to believe. I looked over at Granger and hoped that the wet shine I saw was in her eyes and not mine. "Why?"

Her voice barely carried to me, and I leaned forward to hear her. "I had to, Malfoy. Everyone believed you'd committed your crimes willingly." She shook her head, her curls falling in front of her face. "It took me three years to gather enough evidence, but ...." She laid her hand on my wrist and pushed up my sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark on my forearm. Drawing her fingers over it, she whispered. "Your father admitted that you'd been unwilling. That even at your initiation, you'd been under the Imperius."

I closed my eyes, unable to watch her face any longer. I'd screamed my throat raw that night, struggled until they broke both my legs to keep me from trying to run. My father held my arms while MacNair slammed the handle of his ax into my knees and Bellatrix laughed with the Dark Lord. Father cast the Imperius, and I begged them to give me the Mark. I begged on my knees, choking on my own tears, groveling before the Dark Lord and pleading to be taken. Before He agreed, they held a short competition - who had the best Cruciatus? Bellatrix came in second.

My father won.

I was unconscious when they Marked me, and I woke in the Manor to a house-elf crying that Mistress Narcissa was dead. For my failure with Dumbledore, the Dark Lord had her executed once he'd burned his magic into me. Punishment for my failure and my reluctance, punishment that should have been applied to me, but had been shifted at my father's request. His _offer_.

The Malfoy family was required to provide penitence for my behaviors, and Draco Malfoy was worth more as a soldier than Narcissa Malfoy was worth as a wife. I spent my first night as a Death Eater under sedation; Father spent that night, one _last_ night with Mother.

I snapped my head up, glared at Mother's portrait, shoved my chair back and approached her, slamming both fists into the canvas. She glanced at me under her lashes, then away. My throat worked for several moments before I could finally choke out my words. "You committed suicide. You killed yourself that night. You _did_!"

She shook her head.

Wheeling, I rushed to my father's portrait and ripped the covering fabric down. Throwing my hand to the side, I Summoned a dagger from the fireplace mantle and tore a ragged gash across my father's abdomen. His sneer never faltered as I cut at the portrait again and again, pieces of it fluttering out of the frame to be crushed under my boots. It took several minutes to destroy the portrait, and I was panting and trembling by the end.

It wasn't enough. I crossed to my desk, grabbed the brandy snifter, and threw the remaining contents on the scattered pieces of canvas. Pointing my wand, I started to cast, but Granger grabbed my arm. "Don't be an idiot, Malfoy. You'll ruin the carpet." She levitated the portrait shreds into the fireplace and stepped back, nodding.

I laughed once, short and harsh, then took careful aim and set the bastard on fire. While he burned, I shouted at him, years of frustration and anger finally flaring up. When there was nothing left but ash, and my throat ached from screaming, I turned. The women that faced me - Mother, Granger - had identical expressions. Approval. Triumph. Granger, as she stepped towards me, added another. Compassion. She slid her hand into mine, laced our fingers together. "I'm sorry, Draco."

I stared at our joined hands, her thumb rubbing over my knuckles. "Sorry for what, Granger? That my father was a brutal man who did his best to make me just like him?" I squeezed her fingers as I spoke. "Sorry that I killed at least a hundred people over the course of the war because of him? Sorry that by the time I was nineteen, I was one of England's most proficient experts at torture?"

She winced as I squeezed her hand harder. "Or are you just sorry that I didn't manage to get myself killed?"

She looked at me, nostrils flared in pain. "I'm sorry it all happened. I'm sorry it happened to you. Your father, the Death Eaters, all of it. Draco, it wasn't your fault."

I dropped her hand and bolted, running up the stairs to my room. Clutching my bedpost, I gasped for breath. Not my fault. Every death, every spill of blood, not my fault. The goddamn Imperius, not my fault. _Bullshit_.

The hallway floor creaked, and I spun, lunging for the door and locking it. She pounded at the door. From the sound, she probably kicked it as well, then she shouted through the heavy oak. "Malfoy! It wasn't your fault, damn it!"

I leaned against the door. "Go _away_, Granger! Get out of my house, go!" She'd saved my life, the bitch. Saved me from going insane in Azkaban. And _now_ she brought me this information? Five years, I'd been living with the guilt and terror, and it _wasn't my fault_? I shouted again. "I can't believe you! Can't believe you brought me this, can't believe you fucking bothered!"

I started laughing, and couldn't stop. "I killed your Weasley friends, the whole damned family. I killed your parents. I tried to kill _you_." I slid down the door and put my head on my knees. "Imperius or no, you should have let me die in prison, you interfering and obnoxious _Mudblood!_"

"Malfoy, I swear, if you do not open this door right now, I will blast the damn thing open!"

Fuck, she'd do it, too. I'd seen this often enough on my visits to the Ministry. When Granger cursed, she meant business. I climbed to my feet and unlocked the door, moving to the the far side of the room. She slammed it open and rushed in. "I couldn't let you die, because it wasn't your fault. The amount of duress you were under, the fact that your own _father_ held you under the Imperius and forced you to commit murder. God, Malfoy, anybody - hell, everybody! - should have seen that you were as much of a victim as anybody you killed during the war." She stepped towards me, and I flinched back. Her anger suddenly draining, she touched my arm. "You were a bully and an arse, but you were never a killer."

I turned around, staring out the window, fighting to stay in control. "Get out, Granger. You did what you came to do, now go."

"Malfoy." Her voice was soft now. "More than once, I faced you in a fight, and each time, I could see you struggling. Every time someone fell under your wand, you tried to scream. Did you know that?" Her hand moved up my arm, across my shoulders. "You tried to fight them, even while fighting us. You were forced into it, and you've been forgiven."

I laughed and shrugged away from her touch. "Forgiven. How the hell do you figure that?" Pushing up my sleeve, I stared at my Mark. "How _could_ you forgive me?"

"Your father and your Master, they forced you. You were seventeen years old, and you didn't have a choice. Malfoy, if I'd been in your position, I'd have done the same things, just to stay alive. You did what you had to, and you have paid for it all. _It wasn't your fault._"

My eyes were starting to sting, and I scrubbed the heel of one hand over them. Granger's arms slid around my waist and she rested her cheek against my back. Again, she said it. "I'm sorry, Draco."

I wanted to scream, to shove her away, to demand that she tell me who she thought she was, saving my life like that, _forgiving_ me, but when I turned in her arms to shout at her, I found myself pulling her closer. I dipped my head and I kissed her, and I couldn't begin to guess which of us was shaking more. She returned the kiss, hard and salt-flavored. One of us had finally started to cry, and when I broke the kiss, it didn't even matter that it had been me.

I stared at her, trying to stop from trembling. She reached up and brushed her thumb over my cheeks, wiping the tears off my skin. Even knowing it was ridiculous to attempt arrogance when I'd just started crying in front of her, I made an effort. "So you've forgiven me. Going to comfort me now? Give some succor to the poor, unfortunate Death Eater?"

She hesitated, her bottom lip quavering. "If you'd like it." She lifted up on her toes and kissed me again, her hands sliding up my chest to wrap around the back of my neck. She whispered against my mouth. "If you want to."

God, I wanted to. "I don't want you to do me any favors, Granger. You've done enough of those tonight. And I don't want your fucking pity." I tightened my hands in her hair. "Come to think of it, I don't want a pity fuck, so if that's your intention, leave now."

She laid her head against my chest, her hair spilling over my arm. We stood like that for a moment, her hands rubbing the small of my back, her fingers kneading into my spine. Granger lifted her head and for the third time that night, she said the same words. "I'm sorry, Draco." She looked up through her lashes, biting her lip. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

I stared down at her. "Didn't mean to hurt me? Should have stayed home, then."

She pounded a fist against my chest. "Would you let someone be nice to you for five minutes? God, Malfoy, I'm trying to be comforting here! I know I'm not good at it, but you don't have to be such an arrogant bastard." She shoved me, shoved out of my arms, and headed for the door.

"Hermione!" It took me a few heartbeats to realize I'd said her name, and apparently it took her just as long. Her hand was already on the doorknob when she paused and turned to look at me. I made a helpless gesture and took a step towards her. "Granger, I don't even know what I want, all right? Forgiveness, comfort, _you_? You bring it all to me in one night, turn everything I've known for seven years upside down, and you know, I sort of appreciate it. But I don't want your pity and I don't like being this confused, and I just don't _know._"

I stepped back to sit on the edge of the bed, dropping my head into my hands. She followed, putting her fingers under my chin, lifting my head up.

"Draco." I opened my eyes and she leaned down, kissing me gently. More gentle than anything I could remember since I was a child, and when she unfastened my robes, I started to shake again.

"Granger, this isn't ... I don't ...."

She laid one finger over my lips, then pushed my robes off my shoulders, ran her hands over my chest. She pressed her hand over my heart, and I wondered if - I hoped - she could feel it racing. As she leaned forward to kiss me again, to brush the tip of her tongue over my lips, I closed my eyes and pulled my arms from my robes, then wrapped my hands around her waist, tugging her down, pulling her with me onto the bed.

She kicked her shoes onto the floor and pressed up against my side, one leg over mine, her toes cold against my calf. Her kisses deepened, her hands roamed over my skin, and I could not stop the groan that rose up when she wrapped her fingers around my prick. She touched me with slow, deliberate strokes, both of us already breathing hard. I reached for her clothes, unfastening them, shoving them off, desperate to have her skin against mine, to have her as vulnerable as she'd somehow made me. When I took one nipple into my mouth, she cried out, her hand tightening around my prick, her back arching to push against me.

I shifted, rolling over her, separating her thighs with my knee. She moaned when I pressed my hand into her curls, one finger slipping into the folds of her quim. Not wet enough, not yet, and by god, I'd hurt her enough in my life. I pried her fingers loose from my prick and slid down, settling between her knees. She rested her hands on my shoulders as my tongue found her clit, and she kneaded her nails into my skin with each slow lick. Her hips rose and danced, and she gave a muffled shriek when I slid a finger inside her. I could feel her pulsing around me - she was close, very close - and I didn't stop until she'd gripped my hair and screamed.

I licked my lips and crawled up her body, kissing her deep, feeling her shift under me. She reached between us and stroked my prick again, spreading her thighs wide, guiding me into her body. We both moaned when I was fully inside her, and I rested my forehead on hers as I moved. She kissed me again, our tongues thrusting in counterpoint to our hips. My arms started to tremble and she wrapped her hands over my back, pulled me into her embrace, pulled me deeper into her body.

She murmured my name, pleading with me to move faster, thrust harder. I couldn't refuse her anything, but it had been so long. So long, and she was so right, her skin warm under mine, her body hot around me. In minutes, I dropped my head to her shoulder and groaned, pouring myself into her, feeling her nails in my back. When I collapsed, I laid my head on her breast and listened to her heart pounding. Its beat matched my own pulse, and this time when I kissed her, the salt-flavor on her lips was hers. She smiled at me, her eyes hooded and dark, as I tugged a sheet over us, moving  
her cloud of hair to one side before stretching out and pulling her into my arms.

I kissed her temple. "Thank you." She smiled again, turned her head and brushed her lips over my forearm, kissing my Mark. Her kiss burned more than the Mark had in the days after I'd received it, burned more than any time He'd ever called me to him. Granger. She'd forgiven me, she'd comforted me, and, it seemed, in her own way she'd marked me. Given some practice, some patience, and a hell of a lot of shouting matches, maybe I'd stop being a free man. At least this time, I'd be going willingly. If she'd have me.


End file.
